Moving Fronds

I watch the rain from my window,

its lonely drops smacking the glass,

asking to come in and keep me company.

They beg to drip upon my face

and feel satisfied.

But, I cannot help to think of a hot day,

Under Palm Trees and feeling my own water

run along my back and the condensation of a glass

with fresh squeezed fruit or iced tea.

I can see the palm fronds blowing, moving

dancing, being free and open.

Not lonely, only confident.

I can remember my mother fanning me with one,

when I was a girl.

My sun drenched, sweaty face welcoming the draft.

It is rainy days like this,

that I miss my mother most.

My mother and her forever care of me and my siblings,

under the sun on a hot summer day.